Sunsets and Car Crashes
by emerald-soco
Summary: If there's one thing Tyra can't resist, it's a challenge. If there's one person Matt can't resist, it's Tyra.
1. Aim, Snap, Fall

Hi, new fandom! So, an explanation for all the mistakes/artistic liberties I've taken: I saw the pilot of this show forever ago, loved it, and then somehow never really watched it after that. So basically everything after Jason's injury is my own imagination – including whether or not Matt scored the winning touchdown of that first episode, because I really don't remember. But I hope you enjoy! Please review and let me know if I should continue!

**Aim, Snap, Fall**

_I think I've found my new addiction tonight_

Matt Saracen feels pretty fucking good for all of four seconds before he remembers what exactly led to him scoring this miraculous, game-winning touchdown.

It seems like the crowd remembers at the same time, because all of a sudden the cheering just stops – no trailing off or petering out, just clapping and whooping one minute and dead silence the next. There's an awkward moment when no one's sure how to recover (how could they have been _cheering_ when their star player is on his way to the hospital?) and then the announcer clears his throat over the loudspeaker.

"Folks, if tonight's victory doesn't inspire Jason Street to make a quick recovery, then I don't know what will. Let's get the news and all our best wishes over to him at St. Vicnent's. And those of you who can't make the drive, be sure to keep him in your prayers."

The guy continues, offering his congratulations to the Panthers on their inspiring comeback, but Matt's the only one still listening. Everyone else is on their feet now, surging towards the parking lot, as if by being the first to arrive at Jason Street's bedside they'll somehow be credited with his healing process.

With a sigh, Matt latches on to the tail end of his team, trotting off the field and into the harsh fluorescence of the locker room. It feels like waking up abruptly after a deep sleep. He's got his helmet in hand, cradling it against him, but hasn't yet brought himself to strip off his uniform when Coach Taylor taps his shoulder.

"Oh. Coach. Uh, hi." He cringes inwardly – could he sound any more nervous? "Uh, I was just about to head over to the hospital."

Coach nods, his eyes flicking down Matt's body. "You might want to hit the showers first."

"But –"

"Are you a doctor, Saracen?" He doesn't raise his voice, but there's an edge to it that's sharper than his usual pregame pep talk tone. "You got some kind of medical training I don't know about?"

Matt casts his eyes downward. "No, sir."

"Well, then." As if it's settled. "Hit the showers, then I'll see you at the hospital."

"Yes, sir." He turns away, finally setting the helmet down – carefully, as if it's something breakable – on the shelf inside his locker.

"And Saracen?" The Coach pauses, waits for Matt to turn and face him again. "You played hard out there. That was your win."

Matt trips over his own tongue, but manages a strangled-sounding "Thanks, Coach." With that, the older man nods and turns to leave, moving slowly, as if his whole body aches with the same dull throb that Matt is currently experiencing.

Alone in the locker room, Matt exhales and pulls his jersey over his head, holding it at arm's length to study it. His name in blue block letters sit atop his number, the white cloth streaked with mud and grass stains. It looks like a real player's uniform, like someone who's put his sweat and tears into the game on more than one occasion.

He decides not to wash it just yet, instead hanging it carefully beneath his helmet, and then closes his locker and heads to the showers.

XXX

From the size of the crowd gathered in the waiting room of St. Vincent's, you would think there'd been some huge natural disaster, Tyra notes as she strolls through the doors. Hard to believe the entire town has come crawling out of the woodwork for a single teenaged boy.

_Jealous_? a smug voice asks from the corner of her brain.

She rolls her eyes at herself and shrugs the thought away. So what if maybe two people in all of Dillon would care if she was in the hospital? That's why she makes it a point to never get hurt.

"Tim," she calls out, spotting his familiar face. As always, her heart skips a beat when she sees him – Tim Riggins is a lot of things, none of them particularly good, but he's one handsome son of a bitch. "You okay?"

He pushes her hand away when she tries to take his. "I'm not the one who got tackled."

It's not the gruff tone that surprises her – Tim has always been rough around the edges and his gravelly voice and calloused hands suit him well – but the flash of pain in his eyes. Tyra has never seen such genuine _hurt_ in the boy she's been sleeping with for the better half of high school.

"Hey." She softens her voice, all too aware that she's no gentler than he is. "It wasn't anyone's fault, you know. It just happened. That's how the game's played."

At that, his eyes snapp to hers, the hurt replaced with the hardness she's more accustomed to. "That is _not_," he says, low and scratchy, "How the game is played."

She knows she's said the wrong thing – she always does, doesn't she? – but she has no idea how to take it back. They face off wordlessly for a long moment and then he looks away. "I've got to get out of here," he murmurs, and pushes past her.

"Tim, wait," she protests, ignoring the few faces who are allowing themselves to be distracted by the unfolding drama. She shoulders her way after him. "Tim, come on."

Outside, it's an entirely different atmosphere. The air is cool and caressing, not the stifling anxiety crammed into the ER. Tyra feels like she can breathe again. "Tim," she says again, after taking in a lungful of fresh air. "It was an accident, okay? I'm sure he'll be fine."

He rears back when she reaches out to take his arm – like a spooked horse, she thinks, with the same panic in his dark eyes. "You don't know that, do you, Miss Mary fucking Sunshine? What are you even doing here, huh? You and Street aren't even close."

She bristles at that – she's hardly close with anyone in this godforsaken town but the only problem she's ever had with Jason is his taste in women. "Well, I'm close with _you_, aren't I? I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Tim just shakes his head. "I can't do this right now, okay? Just … back off."

She scoffs at his retreating back. "Great," she calls out, knowing he won't listen. He _never_ listens. "Just great, Tim. Walk away."

She waits, half-heartedly hoping he'll turn around, but there's not so much as a pause in his stride. Cursing under her breath, Tyra swings around, only to find herself face to face with a stranger.

"Jesus Christ!" she gasps out, startled. Then, as her heart slows, recognition creeps up. He's not a menacing would-be rapist, he's Matt … something. God, what's his last name? He's on the team, she knows that, and she thinks they might have a class together. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

The boy stammers for a minute. "Sorry," he finally gets out. "I was just … I just got here."

"Were you _eavesdropping_?" she asks incredulously.

"No! No, not at all." The guilty look on his face tells a different story. "I was just … I wanted to see if you were okay. After he left and all. I'm sorry, it's really none of my business."

"Saracen," is her response, the name finally coming to her. She studies his features carefully, memorizing them. It's always good to know who you're dealing with. "That's … sweet, I guess. Thanks."

He looks relieved that she's not going to haul off and punch him. "Sorry. I'll just – I'm gonna head in now. See how Jason's doing."

Tyra nods. "Hey," she says, when he'd just reached the door. He pauses and turns to face her – his whole body, nothing like the quick glance Tim would give her. She likes that; like the solidness of this boy's feet planted shoulder-width apart, toes pointing right at her. "Good game tonight."

His face kind of lights up, like her sister's kid's faces always do when they hear something they think is just absolutely great. "Really?"

"Well." She's not trying to be mean, but she's _honest_, damn it. "You kind of sucked, in the beginning. But you pulled through. That's what counts."

God help him, Matt actually seems to consider her words. Then he nods, slowly, and one corner of his mouth lifts. "Thanks."


	2. Caterpillars

**Caterpillars**

_And this is all we need, this is all we need_

Eight days after first being admitted to the ER, Jason Street is transferred to a rehab facility at the edge of town and the Dillon Panthers officially get a new first-string quarterback.

"You're kidding me, man!" is Landry's reaction. "I mean, you have got to be kidding me! You, the quarterback? Of the Dillon freakin' Panthers? _You_?"

Matt tries not to be too offended. It's a shock, after all – his jaw had nearly hit the locker room floor when Coach Taylor made the announcement to the team. And he gets it, he's not exactly the star quarterback type. He lacks a certain finesse, the smoothness that made every word roll smoothly off Jason Street's tongue and every throw look effortless.

When Matt's on the field, it's _work._ People in the stands can tell – they see the muscles strain, the sweat drip. It's a struggle straight through to the end. But when he'd tried to explain that to Coach later, in the privacy of his office, the man had simply stared him down and, with a shrug, said, "That just makes each win count more."

"Come on, man," he finally cuts in on Landry's ribbing. People are starting to stare, as if he hasn't had his share of scrutinizing gazes to last a lifetime in the past week. Everywhere he goes – the barber shop, the library – people are sizing him up, thinking, _Too small. Good hands. Bad form._ "Give it a rest, huh?"

"I, for one, think it's great."

This opinion comes from three booths away. The blonds head turns around slowly, but recognition has already dawned for Matt. It's Tyra Collette, the same girl he'd surprised outside the hospital a week ago. She's in his PreCalc class, too, although she usually skulks in late and sits in the back row.

It takes Landry's elbow driving into his ribs to get his vocal cords working again. "Uh, th – thanks," he stammers out, then – cursing his own idiocy – adds, "Tyra."

"You're welcome." And here, she smiles, slow and sure, like she knows something he can only guess at. "Matt."

With that, she turns back around, leaving Matt to field Landry's disbelieving stare. "Dude," his friend begins, not bothering to even lower his voice. "What _was_ that?"

Matt shrugs, attempting to play it cool. "Maybe she's a fan –"

"Maybe she's a – maybe a –" Landry sputters, his moth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "A _fan_? Matt. Be serious. Girls like that are _not_ fans of yours. She's way – _way_ – too hot for you."

Almost as an afterthought, the boy adds, "No offense."

Matt rolls his eyes. "None taken."

"Do you understand what is happening here?" Now, Landry gets quiet, leaning forward across the booth to whisper. "Do you know what this means for us?"

"Us?"

Landry ignores him. "This means we are on the rise, my friend. Quarterbacks – well, first-string quarterbacks, anyway – get respect in this town. We are about to embark on a new chapter in our lives, man, one in which we will actually score invites to parties and dates with cheerleaders."

"We?"

Again, Landry continues as if Matt hasn't spoken at all. "We're going to be popular," he concludes triumphantly, eyes shining as he envisions their bright future.

Matt digests this information for a long moment, chewing it over along with a mouthful of overcooked burger. "There's just one problem with that theory," he says when he's finally swallowed."

"What?"

"_You_ –" He points for emphasis, poking his finger into his friend's chest. "Aren't on the team."

At that, Landry looks upset. "Like you'd ever leave me in the dust. Trust me, Matt, you're gonna want me around this season – this town is full of fair-weather fans."

"Your friend has a point." Again, the same sultry voice interrupts, although this time from a much closer vantage point. Tyra stands over their table, one hand on her jutted hip, a thin strip of flat, tanned stomach peeking out between the hem of her shirt and the waist of her torn jeans.

Matt's mouth goes as dry as his burger had tasted. "Uh – sorry – what?"

"Your friend," she repeats, bracing the heels of her hands on the table so that her wrists, thin and pale, bear her weight. "Has a point."

"Landry?" He feels bad for the note of incredulity that creeps into his voice, but really – Landry?

Apparently, Landry feels the same. "Me?"

Tyra nods and, without asking, reaches over to pluck a fry off Matt's plate, popping it into her mouth. "This town," she says, uncaring that both of them are transfixed by the way her tongue darts out to trace any salt off her lips. "Is full of phonies. People are gonna like you one day and hate you the next, all depending on how well you play the game."

"Well, I've been playing football my whole life," Matt says, then blanches at how boastful it sounds. It's not like he's God's gift to the game or anything; it's not like he's Jason Street.

"That's nice." She flashes him an insincere smile. "But I'm not talking about football."

With that, she turns on her heel and saunters away, hips swinging with an easy rhythm that garners more than one customer's attention. Matt frowns. "Well, then, what's she talking about?"

Landry is still staring after her, practically salivating, as he confesses, "I didn't hear a word she said."

At that, Matt has to laugh.

XXX

"Oh, I know that look," Smash calls out knowingly as Tyra exits the diner. He nods towards Matt in the window as his new teammate, unaware, laughs at something his awkward blonde friend has said. "Homeboy's in trouble."

Tyra bats her eyelashes, adopting Lyla Garrity's falsetto as she replies, "Why, Smash, darling, I just don't have any idea what you're talking about. Are you accusing me of something?"

"You do a mean impression, girl," he comments, slinging an arm around her shoulder. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't pretend the whole school doesn't know you and Tim are off again. I'm the one he takes it out on during practice."

"Your powers of perception never cease to amaze," she mocks, patting his cheek. "But just because Tim's been a jackass to me all week doesn't mean I'm gonna jump in bed with the next guy I see. Honestly, Smash, I've got a bit more class than that."

"Yeah, yeah," he says, not fully convinced. "All I know is, you were eyeing Saracen like he'd be just as delicious as one of the burgers at this fine establishment."

Tyra rolls her eyes at him. "Now I know you're joking. The burgers here suck. And anyway, with half the town in a state of depression over the mighty Jason Street's downfall, can you blame a girl for wanting an innocent little distraction?"

"You and 'innocent' don't belong in the same sentence," Smash tells her with a laugh. "Maybe not even the same dictionary."

His smile is dazzling in its brightness, not to mention its sincerity. Smash is one of the few football players (Tim Riggins not withstanding) whose company she actually enjoys. He has a straightforward nature she appreciates and a genuine enthusiasm that's contagious. Plus, the few times they've hooked up during her and Tim's infamous off periods, he hasn't assumed it meant anything more, which she also appreciates.

"Okay, maybe 'innocent distraction' is a bit of a stretch," she admits, because he knows her better than most. "More like … a challenge. You know how much I love those."

"Oh, man." Smash's laughter isn't mocking, but it follows her as she gravitates towards her third-generation pickup truck and coaxes it into gear. "Saracen's a goner."


	3. The Tide

-1**The Tide**

_It's that moment in life when you touch her and you feel alive._

Matt's breathing pretty hard by the time it comes down to the final play.

It's been a tough game, his first as the team's official quarterback, and he's running purely on nerves and adrenaline now. They have to win this. It's his only way of proving to a town full of skeptics that he can actually do this.

And he can, if these last seven seconds are any indication. The football arcs out of his arms effortlessly, as if pulled by a string, and spirals through the air to land cradled in Smash's hands and be carried past the goalpost. The crowd is on its feet at once, a dull roar of cheers and catcalls, and Matt is nearly knocked over by the force of it all.

So this is how it feels to _play_, he thinks, grinning like a maniac as he slaps hands with teammates and jogs off the field. To earn every second of field time you get, to feel the calluses form on your hands and the aches melt into your joints like they're a part of you.

It might be just his imagination, but he thinks Coach Taylor's eyes linger on his while he makes his congratulatory speech. "It was a good game," the older man confirms, and is Matt seeing things, or is that a nod in his direction? "Get out there and celebrate. You deserve it."

He floats his way out to the parking lot, barely aware of his feet touching the ground. Landry has agreed to pick him up after the game, but the blonde boy is nowhere in sight when Matt glances around.

"Hey."

"Jesus." This time, it is him who's caught off guard, and Tyra who has done the startling. "Oh. Hey. You - you scared me."

"Little old me?" she drawls, her voice slow and thick like molasses. "Scaring the big, bad quarterback? Don't let the team find out."

He laughs, a little nervously, and wonders how she managed to bridge the distance between them so quickly. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Some of it," Tyra allows, her lips curving upwards as her eyes dart down to his feet and back up again.

Matt coughs. Did her eyes linger - no, he shouldn't even think it. "You a big football fan?"

"Hate it," she confides, taking one more small step closer, so that their bodies are lined up and almost touching.

"Well, then." Trying for bravado, Matt puffs out his chest and takes a stab at humor. "I'm afraid we can't be friends."

"That's fine by me." Her teeth flash, glinting brightly in the semi-darkness. "I don't want to be friends."

He's about to ask what it is, then, exactly, that she wants, but suddenly her hands are on his chest, pressing him back against Landry's car, and her lips are fused to his and he thinks he gets it.

XXX

The fact of the matter is, Tyra doesn't even like football.

She only shows up at the games because Dillon offers little else in the way of entertainment and, until very recently, she'd been sleeping with one of the players. But tonight, her eyes had been drawn consistently to a different team member - even when the ball hadn't been in his hands, Tyra had found herself searching the backs of each uniform for his number.

That had pretty much decided it for her. She wasn't sure where she stood with Tim, who had yet to come around like he usually did after they fought; all lonely eyes and empty apologies. And she was bored, restless; and Matt Saracen had stepped onto the field out of nowhere and become a household name and, okay, who wouldn't be a little bit intrigued by that kind of transformation?

Cornering him in the parking lot is easy - almost too easy, she reflects even as her fingertips glide across the waistband of his jeans and up under his shirt. His skin is still slick from his shower, his abdominal muscles tightening beneath her touch. For all the stammering and shuffling he does, she'd expected him to be clumsy, even shy, but it seems like this quiet boy is just full of surprises.

"What are you -" He breaks away from her, untangling his hands from her hair. He has no idea how they'd gotten buried in there to begin with. "What are you doing?"

Tyra arches one eyebrow and purses her lips in a way that wouldn't be lewd if it were anyone else doing it. As it is, he has to swallow hard and push about a dozen inappropriate mental images out of his head. "Do you really not know? 'Cause if that's the case, then, boy, do you have a lot to learn."

He makes that noise; a kind of choking, laughing noise that she finds just a little bit endearing. "I took Ms. Radcliffe's sex ed course, too, thanks," he says wryly, taking both of them aback with the joke.

She doesn't bother to hide her surprise. "Wow, Saracen, that's the first full sentence you've spoken without stuttering," she remarks, tucking her hands in her back pockets so that her breasts command even more attention. It's a trick she learned back in the fifth grade, when all the other girls in her class were still in training bras and she was shopping the juniors section of WalMart. "I didn't think you were capable."

"Join the club," he mutters ruefully, thinking of the odds that the townspeople have stacked against him.

Intrigued by the tone, her head cocks to the side. "How _does_ it feel to have all eyes on you these days?"

Matt shrugs, obviously uncomfortable under her shrewd gaze. "I hate it," he answers honestly, suddenly aware that she hasn't stepped back at all to allow him any breathing room. "Wouldn't you?"

"Being the center of attention?" Her laugh, too, is quiet and not quite amused. "I'm used to it. For entirely different reasons, of course."

"Right." His eyes are an indecipherable shade of grayish-blue, sharper than she would have expected. "Of course."

"Hey, guys," Landry calls out, making both of them jump as he shoulders his way in between them. "What's up, Matt? Tyra, how are you? Did you enjoy the game? Where were you sitting? Maybe next week, we can come together, you know?"

Tyra makes a show of peering around him at Matt, who is obviously quite used to his friend's behavior. "You played a good game, Matt."

He chuckles a little. "Thank you, Tyra."

"Oh, yeah." Landry hurries to redeem himself. "Matt, my best friend, great game - as usual, buddy." Turning back to Tyra, he puffs his chest out proudly. "Taught him everything he knows. And I'm his official chauffeur - drive the guy everywhere. How 'bout you? You need a ride someplace?"

"I'm good, thanks," she refuses, but gently. Annoying as he is, he's also harmless, and there's a kind light in his eyes that makes her want to treat him with kid gloves. "You boys behave tonight. I'll see you around."

"Drive safe," Matt calls out after her, as Landry waves wildly.

She takes a minute, once she's seated in her truck, to watch them in her rearview mirror. She can't hear what they're seeing, but she sees Landry punch Matt's arm, watches as he grins and nods. "Boys," Tyra mutters under her breath, figuring she knows what they're discussing - but then Landry rears back and arcs his arm the same way Matt did during the game and she realizes they're rehashing the game.

A tiny grin twists her lips. It looks like Matt Saracen isn't the type to kiss and tell.

XXX

"Dude." Even Landry has the sense to wait until Tyra has clearly driven out of earshot before begging his friend for details. "Okay, that is the second time Tyra Collette has approached you in one week. Do you know what _this_ means?"

Matt sighs, preparing himself for another monologue on how all of the unexpected turns his life has taken lately are going to benefit both of them. "What, Landry?"

His friend nods, very seriously, as he pronounces, "She likes you, man."

"That's crazy - _you're_ crazy, Landry," Matt denies, forcing a laugh to show just how absurd the idea is. But he can't help remembering how her lips felt on his, the sparks that had shot up his spine at her close proximity.

If he'd thought he was energized after the game, it was nothing compared to how he felt after touching Tyra.


	4. Bracelets

-1Sorry for the long delays between chapters, the inspiration comes and goes. Hope everyone's enjoying and I appreciate the reviews!

**Bracelets **

_I don't think I can talk, I'm not very stable right now._

That night, Tim throws pebbles at her window until she rouses herself from an unusually deep sleep and stumbles over to shush him. "A drunken midnight visit?" she whispers, shoving the glass upwards. "Could you be _more _cliché?"

"Could you be more of a _bitch_?" Tim retorts, stepping forward to lift himself in.

"Nice." She plants both hands firmly on the ledge, blocking his entrance. "Is that how all the boys are apologizing these days?"

He shakes his hair out of her eyes so he can meet her gaze defiantly as he bites out, "Who even said I was sorry?"

Tyra sighs. "You're the sorriest person I know, Tim."

"You know what -" he begins, too sharply, then stops. "Look, I didn't come here to fight with you, T."

"Then why _did_ you come?" She folds her arms across her chest, wishing she had more of a shield. It's not that she's weak or anything, but Tim's always had a way of getting past her defenses. "It's not like we're together or anything."

At that, he looks almost ... hurt. "Come on. Don't be like this. Can't we just go for a ride or something?" He pauses, shuffles his feet. "Please, Tyra."

Tim doesn't play nice very often, but when he does, he does it well. There's a tiny little hesitation right before he begs; he kind of ... melts. It's like watching a statue crack open and suddenly all she wants to do is glue the pieces back together again.

"Okay," she relents, motioning for him to back up so she can slide out. "But a short drive. And _just_ to talk."

"Just to talk," he promises, and brings his hands to her waist, guiding her safely to the ground.

XXX

They drive for a little while with nothing but silence and radio static between them and Tyra starts to wonder why she's not at home sleeping soundly.

"So, how's Jason doing?" she ventures when they've traveled a good ten miles and Tim still hasn't said a word. "You visit him lately?"

"He's fine," is his brief response.

Tyra nods. "Okay. Tim, can I ask you a question?"

He keeps his eyes on the road. "Shoot."

"Why did you come get me tonight?" She knows there's already an edge to her tone, but who can blame her for being on the defensive? "I mean, did you have something to say?"

"Are you still fishing for that apology?" A sardonic smile twists his lips as he shoots a glance her way. "You're not letting anything go these days, huh?"

And that does it. "You know what," she snaps, "You can just take me home."

"What?" He sounds genuinely confused, which just serves to piss her off more. "What's your problem, T? We haven't talked in weeks."

"And whose fault is that?" she shoots back crossly. "I've been around. But, no, you have to wait until it's one in the morning and you've knocked back a few. Well, guess what, Tim? I'm sick of being your go-to girl whenever you get drunk and lonely. I deserve better."

His laugh is a slap in the face. "So that's what you're pissed about? You haven't been my number one priority lately? Well, excuse me for being distracted, Tyra, but my best friend is _paralyzed._"

"You think I don't _understand _that?" She's yelling now; her anger feels too big for her body; too big for the confines of his truck. "You think I don't know how it feels to have someone important to you hurting and you can't do anything about it? God, Tim, get a fucking _clue_."

She doesn't get to hear how he might have responded to that. There is suddenly a loud horn beeping; headlights in their line of vision. Tim curses and jerks the wheel; Tyra screams and the tires screech. They are spinning out of control and there's never been a better metaphor for their entire relationship than this very moment. Somewhere in the haze of her panicked brain, Tyra knows how this is going to end, so she shuts her eyes tight as his truck smashes into a tree and rolls over twice.

She wakes up once in the ambulance; eyes fluttering open to have Tim's dirt-streaked, tear-soaked face staring down at her, wildly muttering, "I'm sorry, Tyra, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

His timing's bad and the delivery's worse, but as sleep overtakes her once more, she thinks that at least she finally got what she wanted.

XXX

The hospital staff says a lot of things Tyra doesn't really believe. "It's a miracle you survived." "You can't even see those little scars." "In a few weeks, it'll be like none of this ever happened."

But the thing she never expected them to say isn't a lie at all. "Tyra, hon," the day nurse - who is so chipper it actually, physically hurts sometimes - trills, "A handsome boy by the name of Matt is here to see you. Says you two know each other."

She blinks tiredly. It's only her second day here, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since she kissed Matt Saracen so boldly in a parking lot. "He's ... here?" she croaks out, her throat still sore from the tube they'd snaked down it during her surgery. "For me?"

The nurse takes that as an affirmation of sorts. "I'll send him right in."

"Tyra." He comes immediately to her side, hovers over her with a face full of concern. "How're you doing?"

She lifts one arm, still attached to an I.V., and gestures to encompass her bruised, broken body. "Great."

He doesn't laugh - in fact, he looks pained, as if her injuries hurt _him_ somehow. "I've been waiting outside forever," he tells her, shaking his head. "They wouldn't let anyone but family visit for twenty four hours after the operation."

At that, she manages to raise an eyebrow. He's been waiting to see her? The thought makes her feel - something, but she's not going to acknowledge that just yet. "How bad is it?" she asks instead and, before he can lie, adds, "The truth, Matt. Please."

The truth is, she looks like she's been through hell. There are cuts scattered across her face, bruises along the skin exposed by her paper-thin hospital gown. Her right arm is in a sling and he knows that she suffered several broken ribs. "You look ... like a tough girl," he says finally. "You look like you're gonna be okay."

She blinks rapidly, like some kind of Morse code, and takes a deep breath. "You're too good to me, Matt Saracen."

He doesn't know quite how to respond to that. He wants to hold her hand, but there are tubes in the way - and something else that he can't quite name. She's strapped down to a hospital bed and he's standing inches away and yet he still feels like there's a world between them.

After a minute of silence, she clears her scratchy throat and asks another question she's not sure she wants the answer to. "What happened to Tim?"

"He's ..." Matt hesitates. He's not sure exactly where she's hurting, but he doesn't want to make anything feel worse. "They put him in jail. For a couple nights, at least. Maybe his brother's got him out by now. I don't really know ... how these things work."

He's too good _for _her. It hits her as suddenly as she'd hit the windshield of Tim's pickup a mere two days ago. He's kind and sweet and of _course_ he doesn't know how these things work. He doesn't know anything about being drunk and driving nowhere; about county jail or car crashes that didn't wreck anything that wasn't wrecked to begin with.

"Thank you for coming, Matt," she says. "But I'm feeling kind of tired."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Immediately, he is backing up, trying to give her what she needs. "I'm sorry, I should've - of course you're tired. I just ... I just wanted to see you. To make sure you were okay."

"I'm okay." She nods, trying to convince herself just as much as him. Tim is in handcuffs somewhere and she has a hospital tag around her wrist and Matt is the only on of them whose hands are not tied. She has to let him go before he can't go anywhere at all. "I'm going to be fine."

It sounded a lot better when he said it, but the door shuts quietly behind him and Tyra's left with just her own lie and the steady beeping of machines that have no idea what condition her heart is really in.


	5. The Night Will Go As Follows

-1**The Night Will Go As Follows**

_Would you like to go inside and forget the world and rules by which we are to abide?_

Matt shows up again the next day and Tyra has to admire his loyalty. They don't even know each other, not really, but visiting hours fall at the same time as football practice and here he is anyway, Coach Taylor be damned.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, and it would be a sweet question if she hadn't already heard it from a dozen different doctors and nurses today. Maybe Matt senses her annoyance, because he hurries to add, "You look much better. More like yourself."

She wants to laugh out loud at that, but holds it in because he's trying to be sweet. It's just ... _she_ doesn't even know who she is, so how can this gentle, misguided boy claim to recognize her? All he knows is what everyone else in Dillon knows: she's blonde, and a bitch, and an easy lay if you catch her in the right mood. Add it all up and it doesn't amount to much.

"I brought you something," he announces in an attempt to smooth over the awkward silence.

From behind his back he produces what appears to be a lump of gift-wrap ensnared in Scotch tape. Tyra can't help but laugh then. "Gift shop doesn't offer their wrapping services, huh?"

He grins sheepishly. "Not if you don't buy the gift there, no."

"You didn't ... buy it there?" She is suddenly more awake than she's been all week. This means that he prepared for visiting her. This means that he thought of her. This means ... nothing. It can't mean anything. Still, she's curious. "Can I open it?"

"It's kind of dumb," he cautions, handing it over. He steps back while she tears into the paper and smiles at how child-like she looks, hair messy and eyes bright. "I mean, I wanted to buy something, but I couldn't really find anything that fit. I had this at home, and I just thought - I thought you might like it."

He stops then, because he's rambling and she's not saying a word, and neither of those are good things. "It's dumb," he says again, wishing the floor could open up and swallow him whole.

"No." Tyra shakes her head, her eyes still fixed on the scruffy teddy bear. It's brown fur is dingy and matted down, one button eye missing, but she's staring at it like it's made of solid gold. "It's not dumb. It's perfect, Matt. He's yours?"

"From when I was really little," he's quick to explain. The tips of his ears are bright pink. "I just thought you might get lonely in here and, I don't know, that you'd like the company."

"You're a good person, Matt." She hesitates, then forges on. "And I know, before this whole car accident thing, I let you believe that I was ... interested. But, just to be fair, I should tell you, I'm not - I'm not looking for anything. Like that. With you," she finishes lamely.

He looks astonished for half a second, then his face just goes blank. "Oh, you think I'm - I'm not - the bear isn't - wow." He chuckles awkwardly. "I was just being nice, Tyra. The bear, it's a get-well gift. It's not, like, I'm not trying to make it a _thing_."

"Oh." Now she's the one to flush deep red. "Of course not. I just, I wanted to be sure. I didn't want to - I mean, you're such a good guy. You're gonna make some girl very lucky. I just, I'm not, I can't be .. _that _girl."

"Right." Matt nods, rocks back on his heels. "Right, of course. And I'm not, you know, I'm not really looking for anything myself right now. I just thought, you know, you're hurt, and you're stuck here for awhile, so you should have something to hold onto."

"The bear." She's still clutching it like a lifeline. "Right. And I appreciate it. I love it, in fact. Best present ever. Thank you."

"Oh, no problem." He's backing up now, anxious to get out of her eyesight so he can die of shame in peace. "I should probably head out, you know, but I'll, uh, I'll visit you again soon, okay?"

"Sure." Her voice sounds strange to her own ears, like she's mimicking someone she's never actually heard. "See you."

He disappears and Tyra sighs, lets her head fall back against the pillow. She brings the bear up to sit on her chest so she can stare it straight in its one eye. "Well, sir," she tells him, sorry she didn't ask Matt if he'd ever named it. "Looks like it's just you and me."

XXX

Matt rounds the corner and comes to a stop, bracing his arms on the wall in the middle of the empty corridor. Then, slowly and deliberately, he begins to beat his forehead against the cool tile.

"Saracen?" The voice is vaguely familiar, but Matt is too embarrassed to look up. He simply freezes mid-hit and closes his eyes. "Saracen, is that you?"

"Yeah," he finally asserts, straightening his spine and turning around. "It's - oh, my God, Jason. Jason Street. How are you? What're you - what're you doing here, man?"

"Don't you think I should be asking you that?" the former football star returns, nodding to the wall Matt had been trying to knock himself out with. "What's the deal, Saracen? Coach Taylor didn't drive you crazy yet, did he?"

"No, not at all." He laughs nervously. Of course his football idol would find him banging his head against the wall like an idiot. "I just ... I was visiting Tyra. Tyra Collette. She, uh, she was in a car accident a few days ago."

"I heard." So had all of Dillon for that matter, but neither of them said so. "I'm actually here for some tests, so I was just about to stop by and see how she's doing."

"Good luck," Matt mumbles.

Jason pauses and tilts his head to the side. "She's in a bad mood?"

"She didn't seem to want visitors," he says, as diplomatically as he knows how. "In fact, she doesn't want anything."

Jason nods like he understands - which, considering the fact that he's a high school athlete now confined to a wheelchair, maybe he does. "You know," he says conversationally, "When I first had my accident, I pushed everyone away. My parents, Lyla, even Riggins once he finally got the guts to visit. It's not like they did something wrong, it's just that I couldn't stand to look at them and see the pity in their eyes."

"I don't pity Tyra," Matt protests.

"What I'm saying is," Jason continues, ignoring him. "Tyra's a proud girl. She's used to taking care of herself. And she's used to people seeing her in a certain light. So maybe it's not your pity she's scared of. Maybe she's scared of how you _do_ see her."

Matt's silent for a long moment, contemplating this idea. It makes sense - Tyra seems to have it in her head that that she's the big bad wolf and he's a quivering little lamb. And maybe she makes him feel like that sometimes, but it's not really the case. He has a father who is a professional killer, no mother to speak of, and a grandmother who is slowly losing her sanity. He knows all about imperfections.

"Maybe you're right, Street," he realizes, clapping his teammate on the shoulder. "Hey, do you mind if I go in there first? I forgot to tell her something kind of important."

Jason smiles and nods. "Go right ahead. Oh, and hey." Matt pauses, already halfway down the hall. "You're a pretty decent QB, Saracen. I'm glad to pass the torch to a guy like you."

Matt hesitates, then grins. "Seriously? Thanks, man. Thanks a lot."

XXX

Tyra is just about to drift off to sleep, comforted by the scratchy fur of her new toy resting against her cheek, when her door swings open. She springs upright with a gasp and then relaxes. "Matt, what're you doing back here?"

"I just came to tell you something," he says, and there's this note of self-importance in his tone that she hasn't heard before. He strides straight to her bed and then adds meekly, "It's important."

She waits, but he's fallen silent. "Okay," she prompts. "What is it?"

"I'm not too good for you, Tyra." It's out there now, and he can't take it back, so he forges on blindly. "I know you have all these messed-up ideas about what you deserve, but I don't believe any of it. I think you're a good person with a - with a kind heart and you don't give yourself enough credit, because you deserve great things, Tyra, you really do.

"And I'm not just saying this because I want to get in your pants, or whatever else you might think," he continues, bolder now, more confident. "'Cause, yeah, you're beautiful and normally I'd give my right arm to talk to a girl like you, but I don't think that's what you need right now. I think you need a friend and I'm a really, really good friend."

Tyra stares at him for a long time and he's just starting to get nervous when the corner of her mouth lifts. "Okay."

"Okay?" He blows out a breath, feels the tension seep out of his shoulders. "Okay, then. I'm gonna - I'm gonna leave, but I'll be back tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay," she says again, her smile wider now. "Hey, Matt? One thing. Does this bear have a name?"

He looks at his feet. "It's Reginald," he mutters, and flees the room.


	6. All Hail the Heartbreaker

-1**All Hail the Heartbreaker**

_It's not like I think about you constantly_

At the end of the week, Matt shows up for his daily visit and finds Tyra in a terrible mood. She bites out a greeting and then turns her attention back to a _Jerry Springer_ rerun. He tries to make conversation, but she responds only in monosyllables or murmurs and he quickly gives up. A half hour passes and, frustrated, he stands up and shuts the television off.

"Excuse me." Tyra looks askance at him. "I was watching that."

"You could care less whether or not that girl is sleeping with her uncle," he tosses out, disgusted both with the show and her behavior. "Come on, Tyra, we've been through this. You and me are friends. What's got you acting like such a -"

He stops himself, but Tyra arches her brows just the same. "A what? Come on, say it." His gaze cuts away from hers. "I'm a bitch. I'm pretty sure I warned you."

"You're not a bitch," he argues tiredly. "You're just acting like one."

"Well, nobody's making you stay," she snaps, and keeps her eyes trained on the blank screen when he gets up and leaves the room.

It can't be a good sign that this is the second time in a week he's needed to bang his head on a hospital wall, but Matt wants to do just that. Instead, he just slumps against it. Spending five minutes with Tyra is like playing football; he zigs and zags all over the field, but he can't get anywhere.

Tyra's nurse strolls by and gives him a sympathetic glance. "She kick you out, too? Don't worry, honey, she's been in rare form today. I can't tell you how happy it'd make me if that sister of hers had come to collect her."

"Sister? Collect?" He feels like he's two steps behind. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I don't follow."

"She was supposed to be released today at noon, but -" the nurse drops her voice, "The sister didn't show. We couldn't let her leave without supervision."

Matt sighs. "That explains a lot." He's quiet for a moment. "I know it's not, uh, conventional, but would it be possible for me to take her home? I'm a good driver and I'm very responsible. Her sister probably just got caught up at home, she's got two kids, so you know, it's hard."

The nurse regards him seriously, them she seems to melt. "Honey, you're just as sweet as you look. I'll get the paperwork taken care of and you just get her ready to go, how 'bout that?"

Relief washes over him. "That would be great, ma'am. Thank you so much, I will have her out of your hair in no time at all. And I'm real sorry for any ... trouble she's given you. Tyra can be, uh, difficult, but ... she's not a bad person."

The nurse pats his cheek. "Whatever you say, dear. I'll meet you out front at the car."

"Great. The car." He waits until she's moved down the hall, then hurries to the pay phone. Two minutes and a dozen promised favors later, Landry is on his way and Matt is striding back into Tyra's room. "All right, Collette, let's get you out of bed."

She smirks. "I think you got the line confused. It usually involves getting me _in_ bed."

Matt doesn't give her the satisfaction of blushing. "Nice. Come on, I'm serious."

"In case you haven't noticed -" she begins hotly.

He interrupts before she can work herself into a tantrum. "Look, I know your sister didn't show. I talked to the nurse and she's gonna let me take you home. Landry's on his way so I can borrow his car. It's all set, okay?"

Tyra stares at him for a long time - so long, in fact, that Matt begins to get nervous. She's looking at him like he's a total stranger. "You're -" She stops, clears her throat. "You don't have to, you know."

"I know." He smiles, relieved that she's not going to fight him. "I want to."

XXX

Tyra accepts the mandatory wheelchair ride with the grace of a queen and, once seated in the car, thanks the nurse profusely for everything. The older woman has the decency to wait until the passenger door is shut to hiss, "Boy, did you slip her more meds? 'Cause I could get in trouble for that."

Matt chuckles. "No, ma'am. I think she's just happy to be out of here."

"Mm-hmm." She sighs, then eyes him appraisingly. "You're a pretty good friend to this girl, Matt Saracen."

"Yes, ma'am." He shrugs. "When she lets me be."

He ducks into the car to avoid any further questioning and glances over at Tyra. "You ready?"

"Hell, yeah," she enthuses, wiggling in her seat like a little kid. "I haven't had fresh air in a week. Seven whole days, Matt." Even as she's speaking, she's rolling down the window and breathing in deeply. "It's crazy, what you take for granted until you can't have it. "

"I guess," he mumbles, risking a glance at her.

Her blonde hair is flying in the wind, there's a smile on her face a mile wide, and even though there's a lingering bruise on her cheek and her arm is still in a sling, it's the happiest he's ever seen her.

"What?" she laughs, catching his stare.

"Nothing." Matt shakes his head, looks at the road again. "Nothing at all."

Tyra stares back at him, then smiles. "You're a strange one, Matt Saracen. How do you always keep so quiet?"

He shrugs. "Get used to it, I guess."

"I guess, I guess," she mimics, rolling her eyes. "God, Matt, for a smart boy, you sure don't _know _an awful lot."

"Hey, I know a few things," he protests.

"Oh, yeah?" She's teasing him, poking at his midsection. "Like what?"

"Like ..." He hesitates, then figures what the hell, she's injured and it's probably the only time he'll have any kind of advantage. "Like I've never seen you smile like that before."

"Well, my, my, Saracen." If he'd chanced another look, he would've seen the blush crawling up her neck, but Matt averts his eyes at her casual tone. "You sure are getting brave."

"What can I say," he mumbles, mentally waving good-bye to the smooth declaration he'd envisioned. "Hanging out with you has thickened my skin."

She goes quiet for a minute, watching him. He was born to be a hero, she thinks. He's got the quiet strength, the humble streak, and of course, his downfall - he can't stand to see anyone suffer. She's never been attracted to anyone noble before, but a lot of things are different now.

"Well," she finally says, reaching out with her good arm to touch his shoulder. "Don't change too much. I like you just the way you are."

XXX

"You are so in love with her."

Matt scoffs. "She needed a ride, Landry. What was I supposed to do?"

"Landry, I need your car right away." The boy adopts a falsetto tone. "This incredibly hot girl needs my help and I want to be there for her because I'm just _such_ a nice guy."

"I don't sound like that," is Matt's only defense.

"No, you sound more like this." Landry's whipping noise is realistic enough to have Matt shaking his head. "You are, man. You're whipped. And the saddest part is, you're not even _getting _any."

"We're just friends," Matt says for the hundredth time, and sends up a silent prayer that eventually he'll believe it himself.

Landry leans back in his seat, nodding slowly. "You are _so_ in love with her."

With a groan, Matt buries his head in his hands and doesn't bother to deny it again.


	7. So Much

-1**So Much**

_How does it feel to know you're everything I need?_

"I can't do this." Frustrated, Tyra tosses her pencil down and watches it roll onto the floor, making no move to catch it. "I can't."

Displaying the patience of a saint, Matt bends and picks up the instrument. "Yes, you can."

"I can't. I don't get it and it's pointless." She sighs and pushes her chair away from the table. "God, why couldn't I have broken my other arm? Give me an excuse not to write out stupid proofs when I can just find the answer with a freakin' calculator?"

"Tyra." It's a mild reproach, but she takes the pen when he hands it to her again. "Just finish this one and we'll take a break."

"Fine," she grumbles, bending her head over the page. She snaps back up again to point her eraser at him. "But then we're gettin' some ice cream."

"Deal," he laughs.

He's been tutoring Tyra for a few weeks, after she'd fallen behind during her hospital stay, and he's become pretty adept at handling her flashes of impatience. He understands that it stems from insecurity, but he still hates the way she gets angry at herself. It's better if he can refocus her attention before she shuts down and sends him home.

"Done," she announces a few seconds later, pushing the worksheet towards him. "Let's go."

She's already out of her seat and halfway to the door, but Matt takes a moment to scan her answers. "These are all right, Tyra," he says, shooting her a smile. Her teeth flash in return and he thinks spending the day in her small, stifling kitchen was worth it. "Let's go get some ice cream."

XXX

"Does Landry mind you borrowing his car all the time?" Tyra asks suddenly.

They've been sitting in comfortable silence on a picnic table outside the ice cream stand, licking away at their respective cones. Matt in particular is struggling - his serving of rocky road seems determined to melt before he can enjoy it.

"Nah," he manages to reply briefly, in between catching drops with his tongue. "Don't think so."

"It's just, well, you have it all the time." She shrugs, looks away. "I don't want to be rude, I just think ... wouldn't it be easier if you got your own car?"

Matt laughs at that, a tad harshly, and Tyra's head swings back around to pin him in her gaze again. "Maybe easier," he allows. "But ... not really possible. Right now, at least."

She looks at him, just stays silent and looks, and he finds himself forging on. "It's just, I've got my Grandma to take care of and her medicine's expensive. And my Dad, well, Army medals don't really pay the bills, you know?"

"Hm." Tyra doesn't offer a bland, optimistic platitude. Instead, she swirls her tongue around her mound of praline ice cream, then stands up and tosses it into the trash. "Come on."

"Wait, what?" Confused, Matt jumps to his feet but doesn't follow when she begins to walk away. "I thought we were eating ice cream. Tyra, where're you goin'?"

"You need to have some fun," she hollers over her shoulder, and he can't help that his eyes flick down to her rolling hips. "Come on, Saracen, let's get a move on."

"But I _was_ having fun," he calls out, then realizes that he's yelling. A pack of twelve year olds standing nearby are snickering and he's pretty sure it's at him. "Well, hell," he mutters, and really has no other choice but to follow her.

XXX

Tyra refuses to give him any hint as to where they're going; simply directs him through the streets of Dillon and smiles when he presses for more information. He's dying of curiosity, but her plan is working - he's having fun just listening to her giggle as his guesses get more and more outlandish.

"You better not be bringing me to Vegas," he warns, a smile playing across his lips. "I can't run away with you, Tyra Collette. I've got responsibilities."

"_Screw _responsibilities," she proclaims, smacking the dashboard for emphasis. "If I feel like eloping with you, then that's what we're gonna do."

"Oh, so is that - is that what we're doing? 'Cause I need to make a stop first, I've gotta pick up Landry." She laughs again, but he keeps his expression devoid of humor. "I'm serious, I told him way back in second grade that he could be my best man and I can't - I can't break that promise."

He's only joking, but Tyra regards him seriously. "You really wouldn't, would you? Break a promise you made when you were seven, I mean."

Matt shrugs, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "A promise is a promise. That's how I see it."

It hits her again, just how good he really is. Tyra has lived seventeen years in Dillon, a town that practically bleeds Southern hospitality, but no one's ever treated _her _with any kindness. They hear her last name or see her short skirt and their lips automatically purse. In their eyes, she's trailer trash and that makes it okay for them to ignore or insult her.

But Matt is different. It doesn't seem to matter to him, all the dirty deeds she's done. He visits her in the hospital and tutors her and doesn't try to kiss her like the rest of the football guys would. He's nice to her sister's little brats and he takes care of his grandmother all by himself and never complains. He would keep a promise he made as a child and, she knows somewhere deep down, he would go to Vegas if she asked him to take her. He would go anywhere she wanted.

"Uh, Earth to Tyra?" Matt taps her shoulder, ignoring the jolt of electricity he feels when his skin touches hers. "Where should I go now?"

"Oh." She shakes her head, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. Um, take a right. We're almost there. You ready for some excitement?"

"I don't know." He sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. "I was kind of looking forward to Vegas."

Her eyes sparkle at him. "You wanna marry me, Matt Saracen?"

"I, uh -"

"Stop!" He cuts off abruptly when she grabs his hand. "We're here. Pull in here."

"We're here? Tyra, this is ... this is Buddy Garrity's place," he realizes, glancing around at the rows of gleaming cars. "What're we doing here? I can't afford a car, I told you that."

"I'm not an idiot, Saracen." She rolls her eyes. "But just 'cause you can't pay, doesn't mean you can't play. Come on. Come on, don't just sit there and look at me like that. We're gonna test drive some cars."

XXX

"Okay." Two hours later, Matt has been behind the wheel of several cars he can't even _name_, much less afford. They're parked in the school parking lot now, sitting on the hood of Landry's trusty vehicle and watching the sun go down behind the football field. "That was seriously cool. Have I thanked you yet?"

"Many times, actually," she laughs, bumping his shoulder with hers. "You can stop now. This was supposed to be _my _thank you to you. For helping me out with Calc and - everything else."

"Really?" He pretends to consider. "Weird. I thought you were just lookin' to get out of finishing your homework today."

"Well, that, too." Her smile puts the setting sun, in all its golden glory, to shame. "I just figured, you know, I can't buy you a car obviously, but ... I wanted you to have one. If only for a few minutes."

She looks down at her feet and Matt takes the opportunity to study her. Her aviator sunglasses sit on her head, glinting in the fading light like a tiara might. Her hair is pulled back for once, leaving her long, delicate neck exposed. Her shoulders, too, are bare save for the thin lace straps of her tank top and a light dusting of freckles he didn't expect.

"You know," he says, almost conversationally. "You're not as bad as people think, Collette."

She glances up at him, mouth open in surprise, then smiles. "Yeah? Well, you're _exactly _as nice as people think, Saracen."

He nods slowly, weighing his options. There's so much he wants to say. They're sitting in the spot where they first kissed, they've spent a perfect day together, and she's never looked as beautiful as she does in the half-light of dusk. But she also looks ... peaceful, he thinks, like for once her mind isn't on anything dark or heavy, and he doesn't want to bring her back down just yet.

"Yeah," he finally says, blowing out a long breath. "Yeah, I pretty much I am."


	8. 3685

-1**3685**

_I would like to thank you for showing me _

_A part of myself I had never seen_

Tyra had set her mind on forgetting all about the accident and Tim and every other stupid decision she's made in her lifetime, so when the police had visited her in the hospital, she'd told them she wasn't pressing charges. She's been considering it her parting gift to Tim, so when Matt drops her off that night, she's surprised to see her old boyfriend hunched on the steps.

"Is that ...?" Matt trails off, because it definitely _is_, and he wants to see Tyra's reaction.

She doesn't put on much of a show; just squares her shoulders and says, "Yep."

"What does he - what do you think he wants?" He squints at Riggins' slumped form, caught in the glare of his headlights. "You think he's drunk?"

"Nope," she says grimly. "He wants what he always wants after he screws up. Forgiveness."

Matt looks from his teammate to Tyra, unsure of what to do. "You want me to stay?"

She considers. She doesn't want to send him away, afraid of how that might be taken, but she'd rather handle this privately. She and Tim are pretty good at tearing each other apart. Right now, Matt still looks at her like she's human, but that could change if Tim decides to go for the jugular.

"It's probably better if you go," she says apologetically, twisting her hands in her lap. "I can handle this."

He nods, then grabs her wrist as she moves to leave. "Tyra. Call me if you need anything."

"I will," she promises, giving him a small smile before shutting the door. She waits until his taillights have faded before turning to face the music. "Tim. What can I do for you?"

"Tyra." He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets. She takes note of the new scar running across his forehead; thinks ironically of how it will only increase his appeal. Girls will think it's mysterious and sexy - a deadly combination, she knows from experience. "You and Saracen, huh? I heard you two were hanging out."

"We're not - hanging out," she bristles, then falls quiet because she has no idea _what_ they're doing. "Not that it's any of your business. What do you want?"

"I just ... I wanted to say I'm sorry." He glances at the ground, a lock of hair falling to cover his eyes. "For that night. For everything, really, but especially for that night. I was drunk and I ... I shouldn't have been driving. It was stupid."

"It was." She wishes she could leave it at that, but her conscience - and since when has _that_ been an issue? - nags at her to continue. "But it wasn't all your fault. I knew you'd been drinking. I could've chosen not to go with you."

He nods to his feet. "Why did you? Come with me?"

It's a question she's asked herself a thousand times since waking up with a tube down her throat and an IV in her arm. And still, "I don't know," she admits. She sighs and, uncrossing her arms, takes a step towards him. "I guess I wanted to think we could fix things."

Tim lifts his head at that. "Do you think we can?"

"Excuse me?" She gapes at him, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. "You ... what?"

"I just ..." He shrugs, looks away again. "I've had a lot of time to think these past few weeks and I guess I realized ... how alike you and I are. And we've been through a lot together. I think we could still have a chance. You know, if you ... if you wanted."

Tyra shakes her head in disbelief. "Tim, our relationship, it was - it was _literally_ a car wreck. You were a mess, I was a mess - _that's_ what we had in common. We can't ... be together like that anymore."

"Why not?" he presses, coming closer. "Why can't we?"

She backs up and surprises them both with, "Because I don't _want_ to."

Tim freezes. "Oh. Oh, right. Okay, then." He nods. "I should ... I should go."

"That's probably a good idea," she says, stepping carefully around him to get to her front door. "Tim ... I forgive you, you know. For the accident. Like I said, it wasn't all your fault."

"Yeah." He's still nodding and avoiding her gaze. "Thanks. I guess I'll, uh, see you around."

"See you," she echoes.

Watching him leave, she thinks about how strange it is to have him walking away from her and to know that it's the right thing. Sending Tim home could be the smartest move she's ever made. Thinking that, she pulls her cell phone out of her bag and punches in a number.

"Hey," she says when the familiar voice greets her. "Can you come pick me up? We have to talk."

XXX

Matt drives away from Tyra's house, but doesn't go much farther than that. It's not like he thinks Tim has some psycho-killer violent streak; he's more concerned with how much Tyra can take before it's too much.

When his phone rings, he's parked a few streets down, waiting. He knows without looking that it's Tyra, knows somehow that she will ask him to come back. He has the ignition started before he answers.

"I'll be right there," he tells her, and keeps his word. When he pulls back into the drive, he's quick to note that Tim is nowhere to be found and Tyra's eyes are dry.

She doesn't give him the chance to get out of the car, just pulls open the passenger door and jumps in. "Can we go somewhere?"

He steers them back toward the school parking lot, because she was peaceful there this afternoon and he wants to make her feel like that again. Once there, he kills the engine and looks over at her. "So -"

Tyra interrupts. "You remember when I kissed you? Here, after the game?"

"Yeah, of - of course." How could he forget? The memory is burned into his brain; the feel of her pressing up against him, her mouth on his. He falls asleep and wakes up to those sensations. "W - why?"

"I just ..." She breaks off, sighs. "I didn't do it 'cause I liked you or I thought you were sweet or anything like that."

Matt's not really sure how to respond to that, so he doesn't say anything at all.

"I did it because I wanted ... I just wanted to see how you'd react." She glances at him, then quickly looks away again. "You're so quiet all the time, so steady. Even after having your whole world turned upside down, having all this pressure put on you, you were so damn _calm_. I just wanted to see what it would take to push you off balance."

"I ... okay," he says, and his voice sounds strangled to his own ears. "I get it."

"No, that's not - I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad. I'm sayin' it because ..." Tyra takes a deep breath, lets it out nice and slow. "'Cause now, things are different. I _do _like you and I _do _think you're sweet - and polite, and kind, and a whole mess of other things I really have no experience with."

Her laugh is hard and mirthless and it breaks his heart. "Come on, Tyra -"

"Stop right there." She points a finger at him, digs it into his chest. "I'm not sayin' this so you'll try and make me feel better. I just want you to understand that this time is gonna be different."

"This time?" He's been listening carefully, but he still feels like he's missed something. "What do you mean, this -"

And suddenly she's _on_ him, sliding across the seat and clambering over the gearshift, grabbing his face in her hands. He's taken aback, but as soon as her lips touch his, his body hums into action.

She was right, it _does_ feel different than their first kiss. Before, there was a burst of electricity that left him almost numb, but now after the sizzle fades there's a nice warm feeling in the pit of his stomach; a feeling like coming home after a particularly grueling practice. Matt closes his eyes and buries his hands in her hair, tugs her onto his lap and sends up a prayer that she'll stay there forever.

It's impossible, of course, and after some time, Tyra pulls back a little bit and rests her forehead on his. "So? You get it?"

He stares at her, marveling at the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes, at the fact that he's close enough to count them. There's a tiny little smile playing at the edges of her lips and he can feel his own tugging upwards in response. "I'm starting to," he murmurs, and this time it's him who closes the distance between them.


	9. Black Dresses

-1Ok, so I debated a lot about posting this, 'cause it could've just ended happily with the last chapter. But the title is 'Car Crashes', plural, and I wanted to see if I could write something so difficult, so, yes, there is a character death here. Feel free to stop reading and just consider Chapter 8 the end, but if you do continue, there's this and then one final chapter coming, so let me know what you think of those!

**Black Dresses**

_In muddy grass, we stand side by side_

_Our knuckles interlocked_

Tyra wakes up with a smile on her face for the first time in as long as she can remember.

It doesn't matter that she was woken up about an hour too early by Mindy's kids hollering and chasing each other around the house. Or that there's a steady downpour of rain falling against her window; the sky gray and dreary outside. She can just feel, deep down in her bones, that it's going to be a good day.

And then the doorbell rings.

"Matt, Matt!" she hears her nieces cry out, their feet pattering across the floor as they both rush to answer the door. "Auntie Tyra, Matt's here!"

"How many times have I told you two, you can't answer the door without me or your mama around," she chides gently, strolling into the kitchen. She's biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to grin too big at the idea of Matt showing up so early when they don't even have plans. "Hey, Saracen. Miss me?"

He chuckles, but he looks uncomfortable, which is weird because he's been in her house so much since the accident that he usually makes himself right at home. "Mornin', Tyra. How - how are you?"

"Good, I'm good." Her smile falters as she watches him fidget. "What brings you by, Matt?"

"I just, uh -" He glances around like a deer caught in headlights. "You mind if we talk somewhere privately?"

"Oh," Tyra is taken aback by his serious tone. "Sure. Girls, why don't you go play in the other room, okay?" She waits until they've done as they're told - for once - then looks expectantly at him. "So?"

"Tyra, I don't -" He's shuffling his feet and avoiding her gaze. "I don't know how to say this, but -"

"Just stop right there," she cuts in, throwing her hand up to ward off his words. "If you're gonna give me some speech about how kissing me last night was a mistake, I _really_ don't wanna hear it."

"What?" His head snaps up at that. "No, I - it's nothing like that. I just - I've got some bad news. I wanted you to hear it from me."

She's still regarding him suspiciously. "Okay. What is it?"

"Tyra, last night, after you talked to Tim, he ... he was on his way home and he was hit by a drunk driver." Matt swallows, licks his lips. "He was - he was killed instantly."

Tyra blinks, then tosses out a laugh. "You're kidding, right? That's a - that's a joke. A really sick joke." He shakes his head and she falters. "How would you ... how would you even know?"

"Landry's dad responded to the call last night." Matt looks utterly miserable. "Tyra, I'm so sorry. I wish ... I just didn't want you to hear it on the news or anything."

He takes a step towards her, one hand outstretched, but he's not entirely surprised when she rears back out of reach. "Don't. Just ... don't. I have to see Billy. I can't - I can't be here right now."

Before he say anything else, she turns and flees.

XXX

Matt doesn't see Tyra again until three days later, when he arrives at Tim's funeral in his father's suit with Landry at his side.

"There she is, right there," Landry points out, but Matt's already found her. She's standing at the church doors with Billy, looking pale and small in her black dress. Her hair still shines blonde and bright, but he can tell even from a distance that her eyes are dull. "She looks okay. You know, considering."

Matt doesn't respond and Landry falls silent as they approach the somber pair. "Billy," Matt clasps the older man's hand. "I'm so sorry, man."

Billy nods. He's always held himself upright, as if the whole world rests on his shoulders, but now he is slumped, defeated. Matt moves on. "Tyra." He lowers his voice, touches her elbow. "How're you doing?"

Her eyes flicker over his face, but it's almost like he doesn't register. "I'm fine," she says woodenly, and then he is being pushed along by Landry as the line moves forward.

"Saracen." Coach Taylor is already inside, his wife and daughter beside him. "How you holdin' up?"

"Oh, I'm okay," Matt nods. "You know, I can't believe it, really."

"My wife tells me you and Tyra Collette are good friends." His eyes are knowing. "How's she doing?"

"She's ... she won't talk to me, actually," he admits. "Sir."

"Give it time," Coach Taylor advises. "She's a smart girl. She's hurting, but she'll come around."

"Sir, I -" He doesn't want to question the man's authority, but ... "How can you be sure?"

"I know a thing or two 'bout losing, Saracen." He claps his shoulder. "If you love the game, it doesn't matter how many times you lose. You take those losses inside you and you play harder. But you always end up back on the field."

XXX

The Coach makes a good speech about Tim, about how he was one of the best running backs he'd ever seen, about how, when it counted, Tim could give more than even he thought he was capable of.

"He was a good boy," he concludes. His eyes are dry, but his voice is rough, like it's hurting him to say goodbye. "And I think he would've been a good man."

Billy tries to say something, too, but he only gets as far as croaking out, "He was my family," and then his shoulders are shaking and he makes this terrible noise, a cross between a sob and a moan, and Coach Taylor jumps back up to lead him away from the alter.

Jason gets up there next, his spine ramrod straight against his wheelchair. "When I got hurt, it took Tim a long time to come see me. But when he did, he knew exactly what to do to make me feel better - which, of course, was sneaking me out of rehab so we could take a road trip."

The crowd chuckles and Jason pauses, nods. "That's the kind of guy Tim was. It might take him a while, but he would do the right thing."

Just as he thinks the service is about to end, Matt's surprised to see Tyra making her way to the front, mouth set in a grim line.

"Tim was ..." She trails off, starts again. "I loved Tim for a long time. I really did, and I'd like to think he loved me, too, in his own way. We weren't right for each other, God, no, but ... but we did care."

She pauses again, thinks for a minute. "And Street's right, you know? Despite himself, Tim was a good person. I really do believe that. He had his faults, he had a temper, but he also had a kind of quiet to him. Sometimes he'd get this look on his face like he was a thousand miles away and I would hate it 'cause he looked so damn peaceful. And I just - I hope that he's there now."

The organ music starts up then and Matt moves forward with the rest of the first-string players to act as pallbearer. The coffin isn't as heavy as he expected and he has the wild thought that maybe Riggins isn't in there, that it's all some kind of joke and he's off drinking a beer somewhere and snickering. But by the time they've carried it all the way to the cemetery, his shoulder is sore and he's accepted that it's very, very real.

Matt step back and folds his hands behind his back, listening to the priest read from the Bible. Suddenly, he feels someone right beside him, pressing closer than a teammate would, and tiny fingers slide into his. Chancing a glance, he finds Tyra staring straight ahead, her hair moving in the wind, her chin held high.

He doesn't smile, though his lips twitch slightly. He just readjusts his grip and holds her hand as they put the first boy she ever loved to rest.


	10. Under the Covers

-1Hey all! So this is the final chapter, hope you enjoy. Don't forget to let me know what you think!

**Under the Covers**

_If I could sleep forever_

_Would you still be in my dreams?_

Tyra slips away soundlessly after the funeral, disappearing into the crowd, and Matt wants to kick himself for thinking it would be so simple. She's never made anything easy when it could be difficult, so why would she possibly start with him?

Landry chatters the whole drive home, obviously trying to distract his friend. "I'm tellin' you, man, _I_ almost cried - and that's sayin' somethin', 'cause I'm pretty tough. But when Riggins' brother got up there and started bawling, that about did me in. And I've never seen Mrs. Taylor look so wrecked before."

Matt nods along, not really listening. He's staring out the window, watching all of Dillon fly by, and wondering how in the hell he even got involved with Tyra Collette in the first place. She's damaged and distant, and he had enough on his plate long before she sauntered into his life.

"Landry," he says, interrupting the other boy's rambling. "Do you think I'm wasting my time with Tyra? Could we ... are we too different?"

He clears his throat. "Matt, you're my oldest and dearest -"

"And only, let's not forget only," Matt supplies.

Landry pointedly ignores him. "Friend, so I'll be completely honest. Tyra Collette is so far out of your league, you shouldn't rightfully be allowed to speak her name."

"Thanks," he sighs. "That's what I needed to hear."

"That said," Landry continues, "You're a good guy, probably one of the best, and while I think any girl would be lucky to have you, I think Tyra Collette, especially, might need you."

Matt stares at the friend he's known since second grade, an awed expression on his face. "You're somethin' else, Landry."

"That's what they tell me," he declares, and presses down on the accelerator.

XXX

Matt gets home and decides to sleep off the day's turmoil, crawling under the covers despite the fact that it's not even dinner time. He dreams of Tyra, trapped in the wreckage of a twisted-up pickup truck and calling out for him. He reaches out, stretches as far as he can, but their fingers can only brush.

"Matt." She's saying it over and over, pleading with him. "Matt. Wake up."

He jerks upright and finds her standing over him. "Tyra. What the - what are you doing here?"

"I just ..." She shrugs, crosses her arms. "Wanted to see you."

"Really?" He's hopeful, too hopeful, and he clears his throat. "'Cause you, uh, took off pretty fast this morning after ... after everything."

Tyra hesitates. "Move over."

"What?" Unwittingly, he pulls his bed sheets closer, as if she might suddenly whip them off and expose his plaid-patterned boxers.

"Move over," she insists, nudging his shoulder. He complies, fumbling for the t-shirt he'd discarded before collapsing into bed. She sits down beside him, on top of the covers, but still, she's Tyra Collette and she's in his bed and this has only ever happened in his dreams. Matt swallows hard.

Her eyes wander around his room, lingering on a sketchpad he's left open on the floor. "I've never seen your drawings," she says, almost to herself.

"They're not much," he mumbles when she reaches for the book. She flips through the pages slowly and he can't read her expression but she looks almost ... wistful.

She pauses when she finds her own image staring up at her. He's drawn her in her hospital bed, her bruises mere scratches of charcoal, her eyes gray and defiant. "Not my finest moment," she murmurs, tapping her two dimensional self.

"Hey, I liked you then," he protests, touching her shoulder.

She looks at him for the first time, gives him a half-smile. "Yeah, I guess you did." They're quiet for a moment, his hands still resting on her skin, and then she says, "I'm sorry for leavin' like that, at the funeral. I didn't feel much like talkin' to anyone."

"Oh, sure, I understand," he says, but he pulls away, puts some distance between them. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"The thing is ..." Tyra breaks off, clasps her hands in her lap. "I meant what I said today. I loved Tim. When we were dating, I really did think that eventually we would pull ourselves together and have a shot at things."

"That's -" He doesn't know what she wants him to say. "That's real nice. I'm sorry things didn't ... you know, work out for the two of you."

"Oh, Matt." She chuckles, glances down. "Come on. We both know that it would never have worked out. And Tim knew, too. You know, the night he - died - we talked and we both - I think we both understood that it was over."

"Well, that's good." Matt nods, wets his lips. "Good to have closure."

Tyra flips a page in his sketchbook. It's her again, leaning on the hood of a car, a sun low in the sky at her back. "You really have a talent, you know that? God, this _and _football. You're a lucky guy, Matt Saracen."

He's never seen it quite like that before. Drawing is something he just does, without thought. And football, well, he works too hard at that for it to be called a talent. "I ... I guess."

"You are," she says again, firmly, and she smiles more fully this time. "You're gonna get out of this town and you're gonna have a damn good life."

"Oh, Tyra, that's ... that's a long way away from here." He chuckles uncomfortably. "You know, I've still got a few years left in Dillon."

"Better than a lifetime," she sighs, and turns back to his drawings.

Matt studies her profile, the way her chin seems to jut out even when she's looking down. "Why'd you really come here tonight, Tyra?"

"I like you, Matt," she finally confesses. It's blunt, brash, but it sounds just like her. "And don't give me that jaw-dropped surprised look. You didn't think I've been spending so much time with you 'cause I needed the A plus in Calc."

"Well, I kind of ... thought was part of it," he stutters, a dazed expression replacing his outright shock. "I mean, I knew ... well, when we were - you know, kissing - I knew there was something, but I thought after Tim, you would ... you would change your mind."

"Oh, I've been tryin' to," she's quick to assure him. "I mean, let's face it, Matt, this will never work. Look at you. I'm serious, you're really gonna go places. And me, I can talk about California all I want, but my biggest fear is that I'm gonna end up just like Mindy and my mom. Kids I had too young and men I'm too old for."

Matt gathers his courage and slides his arm around her shoulders. "Tyra, that's never gonna happen. You're the bravest girl I've ever met."

"Well, that I'm not gonna argue with," she replies, leaning into his embrace. "But don't say I didn't warn you when this doesn't work out. You _know _me. I'm messy, and bitchy, and I _hate_ being wrong. It'll end badly. I'll probably break a lot of your things - maybe burn them, I don't know. It'll depend."

"On what?" he asks, more amused than alarmed by her prediction.

"On my mood," she says, like it's obvious.

"Well, that all sounds pretty - pretty bad, actually," Matt admits, but there's a tiny grin on his face and it grows as he moves towards her, lips hovering over hers. "Not very fun. Probably a waste of time."

"Probably," she agrees, her mouth only a breath away.

He kisses her then, soft and sure. His hands don't travel over her body to push the boundaries, instead resting warmly at her waist. It's a steady feeling, like she's grounded to something, and it's only then that she lets herself relax and melt into his arms.

Matt pulls back an inch; just far enough to look into her eyes. "You wanna stay over tonight, Tyra Collette? Get a good night's sleep?"

That really makes her smile, if only because no one has ever asked her to stay over and _sleep_. "I would really like that, Matt Saracen."

The sun sets on the two of them sleeping peacefully, Matt on his back and Tyra with her head in the crook of his shoulder, her open palm resting on his chest above his heart. There are faint smiles on both their faces. When it rises the next morning, they haven't moved an inch.


End file.
